“Try this,” he said, reaching for a second steaming cup waiting on the counter. He handed it to me and I accepted it gratefully, appreciating that he’d been thoughtful about adding cream and sweetener, which was how I liked it.
I took a cautious sip, since it was hot, then coughed over the unexpected—and unwelcome—flavor. “What is this?”
“Blueberry-flavored coffee.”
Abruptly, I was the one scowling. “Who the hell wants to drink that?”
“Ah, see . . . it’s our job to figure out who, then sell this to them.” He lifted his mug in a toast. “Here’s to our latest account!”
Wincing, I straightened my spine and took another sip.
*
I was pretty sure the sickly sweet taste of artificial blueberries was still coating my tongue two hours later. Since it was time for my break, I started an Internet search for Dr. Terrence Lucas, a man who’d clearly rubbed Gideon the wrong way when I’d seen the two men together at dinner the night before. I hadn’t gotten any further than typing the doctor’s name in the search box when my desk phone rang.
“Mark Garrity’s office,” I answered. “Eva Tramell speaking.”
“Are you serious about Vegas?” Cary asked without preamble.
“Totally.”
There was a pause. “Is this when you tell me you’re moving in with your billionaire boyfriend and I’ve got to go?”
“What? No. Are you nuts?” I squeezed my eyes shut, understanding how insecure Cary was but thinking we were too far along in our friendship for those kinds of doubts. “You’re stuck with me for life, you know that.”
“And you just up and decided we should go to Vegas?”
“Pretty much. Figured we could sip mojitos by the pool and live off room service for a couple days.”
“I’m not sure how much I can pitch in for that.”
“Don’t worry, it’s on Gideon. His plane, his hotel. We’ll just cover our food and drinks.” A lie, since I planned on covering everything except the airfare, but Cary didn’t need to know that.
“And he’s not coming with us?”
I leaned back in my chair and stared at one of the photos of Gideon. I missed him already and it’d been only a couple of hours since we’d been together. “He’s got business in Arizona, so he’ll share the flights back and forth, but it’ll be just you and me in Vegas. I think we need it.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled harshly. “I could do with a change of scenery and some quality time with my best girl.”
“Okay, then. He wants to fly out by eight tomorrow night.”
“I’ll start packing. Want me to put a bag together for you, too?”
“Would you? That’d be great!” Cary could’ve been a stylist or personal shopper. He had serious talent when it came to clothes.
“Eva?”
“Yeah?”
He sighed. “Thank you for putting up with my shit.”
“Shut up.”
After we hung up, I stared at the phone for a long minute, hating that Cary was so unhappy when everything in his life was going so well. He was an expert at self-sabotage, never truly believing he was worthy of happiness.
As I returned my attention to work, the Google search on my monitor reminded me of my interest in Dr. Terry Lucas. A few articles about him had been posted on the Web, complete with pictures that cemented the verification.
Pediatrician. Forty-five years of age. Married for twenty years. Nervously, I searched for “Dr. Terrence Lucas and wife,” inwardly cringing at the thought of seeing a golden-skinned, long-haired brunette. I exhaled my relief when I saw that Mrs. Lucas was a pale-skinned woman with short, bright red hair.